Tag Archives: paramornal romance

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In yesterday’s post, I mentioned that one of my favorite childhood Halloween costumes was Witch, and the other was Little Red Riding Hood, so when I set out to write a fairy tale romance, Red was my first thought.

In Ilona’s Wolf, I opened with a twist. Instead of Red, in this case Ilona, being rescued from the wolf by a woodsman, I reversed their roles. Now she’s rescued from a predatory woodsman by a werewolf knight.

Excerpt:

“Yes,” she insisted. In her mind she saw the wolf racing through the forest, sensed its blood lust. She fought down the fear, knowing it weakened her. Gods, was she destined to be ravished and devoured on the same day?

Then she heard the creature approaching. It bounded out of the woods and stood, snarling, lifted its head and let out a blood-curdling howl. The woodsman took one look at the fierce creature and ran off down the path. The wolf chased after him, then wheeled and trotted back toward her.

She sat frozen, her back to the tree. Oh, gods, don’t let it see me. She tried to cast an invisibility spell, but to no avail. The wolf looked at her, golden eyes gleaming, mouth open, showing off large, sharp teeth. She closed her eyes and gripped her throat with both hands. Quaking with terror, she listened as the animal padded toward her. She felt its hot breath on her cheek.

Opening her eyes a slit, she stared into the face of the wolf. Sad eyes stared at her, and her fears receded. Perhaps he’d been tamed. She reached out with what was left of her powers, but sensed no immediate danger. “Good wolf,” she stammered.

She held out one shaking fist, and the wolf sniffed it before licking her knuckles. It moved closer, sniffing her clothing. To her surprise, the animal hunkered down beside her and laid its head on her leg. Carefully, she touched it, stroking the soft fur.

Relief flooded through her. Saved by a wolf, of all creatures. “Thank the gods you showed up when you did. I’d no wish to be ravished by the likes of him.”

The wolf lifted its head and seemed to smile up at her, mouth open, tongue lolling.

She smiled at the canine as she continued to pet it. “Grateful I am for you rescuing me, but ’tis not exactly what a girl dreams of. Where’s my knight on a white steed? ’Tis he who is supposed to do the rescuing.”

When the wolf lowered his head, sniffing between her legs, she laughed and pushed it away. “Rude creature.”

The animal responded by sitting up and resting its head on her breast. She put both arms around it and hugged it close, dropping a kiss on its head. “Do not misunderstand, Sir Wolf, but I still wish you were a knight. A strong, handsome knight like my Werner.”

The familiar sadness filled her at the memory of her husband. “I miss him so much, you know. Dagmar says another knight will come for me, a handsome knight to protect us and make sweet, passionate love to me.”

The wolf whined and raised his head to lick her cheek. Laughing, she tried to push him away, but he licked her full on the mouth. She closed her eyes, stunned when her powers came rushing back, like a flood of magic coursing around her.

Turning aside, she summoned her basket to her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wolf jump up, staring at the basket. Her vision seemed to blur as the wolf’s face slowly became humanlike, then shifted back. She must have hit her head harder than she’d thought if she was seeing things. She closed her eyes and shook her head, but the aching had receded.

When she peeked again, the wolf was gone, and a naked man crouched in front of her. A handsome, well-built man with shaggy brown hair and golden brown eyes.

Diana L. Rubino is here with an #Eggcerpt from her time travel romance, Dark Brew. I love this cover, because it appears to feature the Prague astronomical clock, which I’ll be blogging about tomorrow.

Learn from the past or forever be doomed to repeat it.

Accused of her husband’s murder, Kylah McKinley, a practicing Druid, travels back through time to her past life in 1324 Ireland and brings the true killer to justice.

Two months of hell change Kylah’s life forever. On her many past life regressions, she returns to 14th century Ireland as Alice Kyteler, a druid moneylender falsely accused of murdering her husband. Kylah’s life mirrors Alice’s in one tragic event after another—she finds her husband sprawled on the floor, cold, blue, with no pulse. Evidence points to her, and police arrest her for his murder. Kylah and Alice shared another twist of fate—they fell in love with the man who believed in them. As Kylah prepares for her trial and fights to maintain her innocence, she must learn from her past or forever be doomed to repeat it.

Kylah shut Ted’s den door. She couldn’t bear to look at the spot where he gasped his last breath. His presence, an imposing force, lingered. So did his scent, a blend of tobacco, pine aftershave and manly sweat. Each reminder ripped into her heart like a knife. Especially now with the funeral looming ahead, the eulogies, the mournful organ hymns, the tolling bells . . .

These ceremonies should bring closure, but they’d only prolong the agony of her grief. She wanted to remember him alive for a while longer, wishing she could delay these morbid customs until the hurt subsided.

Throughout the house, his essence echoed his personality: the wine stain on the carpet, the heap of dirty shirts, shorts and socks piled up in the laundry room, the spattered stove, his fingerprints on the microwave. But she couldn’t bring herself to clean any of it up. Painful as these remnants were, they offered a strange comfort. He still lived here.

“I’ll find that murderer, Teddy,” she promised him over and over, wandering from room to empty room, traces of him lurking in every corner. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure justice is served. Another past life regression isn’t enough anymore. I know what I have to do now. And I promise, it will never, ever happen again—in any future life.”

She inhaled deeply and breathed him in. “Go take a shower, Teddy.” She chuckled through her tears as the doorbell rang. She cringed, breaking out in cold sweat when she saw the black sedan at the curb.

“Not again.” No sense in hiding, so she let the detectives in.

“Mrs. McKinley, we need your permission to do a search and take some of your husband’s possessions from the house,” Nolan said.

“What for?” She met his steely stare. “I looked everywhere and found nothing.”

“Mrs. McKinley, the cupboard door was open, four jars of herbs are missing, and the autopsy showed he died of herb poisoning. Those herbs,” Nolan added for emphasis, as if it had slipped her feeble mind. “Foxglove, mandrake, hemlock—and an as-yet unidentified one,” he read from a notebook. “The M.E. determined it was a lethal dose.”

Sherlock Holmes got nothin’ on him, she thought.

“Where’s this cupboard, ma’am?” Egan spoke up.

“Right there.” She pointed, its door gaping exactly the way she’d found it that night. Nolan went over to it and peered inside.

“Ma’am, it would be better if you left the house for a half hour or so. Please leave a number where you can be reached,” Egan ordered.

Nolan glanced down the hall. “Where is your bedroom?”

What could they want in the bedroom? “It’s at the top of the stairs on the right. But we didn’t sleep together,” she offered, as if that would faze them. It didn’t.

After giving him her cell number, she got into her car and drove to the beach.

An hour later, she let herself back in and looked around. They’d taken the computer, her case of CDs, her thumb drive, her remaining herb jars, Ted’s notebooks, and left her alone with one horrible fact: This was now a homicide case and she was the prime suspect.

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